


Metamorphosis

by mochimoon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), spider-man homecoming
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Horror, Gen, Mental Breakdown, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochimoon/pseuds/mochimoon
Summary: When Spider-Man meets Doc Ock, he’s nearly strangled to death and injected with some weird serum. Over the course of the next week, Peter’s convinced he’s becoming a real spider.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this two years, and the inspiration comes from fernandidilly-yo's head canons on their tumblr. Link to original post: https://fernandidilly-yo.tumblr.com/post/169576581060/id-like-to-think-along-with-his-powers-peter
> 
> A little less fun and more angsty and (hopefully) creepy. Trigger warning for implied, mild body horror and mild body modification.

**  
Metamorphosis**

Peter’s head spins as it bounces off of the brick wall. His sights fill with stars and his spider-sense sharpens, though he’s too disoriented to react in time. 

Again, he collides with another brick wall. And a third time, as he’s hurled against another wall, knocking the breath of him.

“Kar—Karen,” Peter wheezes. “Activate—” The words are cut short, locked in his throat as something heavy crushes his windpipe.

“Pinned like a butterfly,” a voice says.

Black dots Peter’s vision, and the man’s face blurs from recognition. However, he can hear his voice—muffled like he’s underwater.

“ _Peter, you’re moments away from blacking out_ ,” Karen warns. 

The metallic hold on his neck loosens, just enough for Peter to gasp for air. 

“I’m not as impressed as I expected to be, Spider-Man,” the man says. “I was hoping for more of a spectacle.” 

Peter’s vision returns and the man is much closer now. But Peter seizes this moment, catching something from the side of his eye. Aiming an arm to the side, his webs latch onto a trash can. With the little strength he has left, the trash can knocks the man away from him just as his thigh flares with a sharp pain. 

Peter’s webs are frantic, shot after shot, bringing him farther and farther away from the rooftop. 

His reserves dwindle by the time he reaches an empty roofed terrace. He doesn't stop himself from crashing onto the dewy grass, soaking in its coolness. 

“ _Your temperature has risen to 102.2 degrees_ ,” Karen says. “ _Peter, you need to break your fever quickly_.”

The cool night air kisses Peter’s sweaty skin, spreading a welcomed chill across his scalp. He gulps in the fresh air, tossing his mask aside. However, it’s difficult to move as his bones weighed heavy like iron. Rolling onto his back, Peter’s eyes droop under the stars. For a moment, despite his fever, he feels relaxed until—

He retches to the side, covering the portion of grass with his lunch. He crawls away, making it far enough from his mess until his mind is swept up in a haze and he passes out.

* * *

“Pause, rewind. What’s happening exactly?”

Tony did not expect Peter today. When FRIDAY told him he was coming up, the man was deeply curious.

So when Peter steps out of the elevator all fidgety, Tony cuts to the chase, asking him what was up.

To Tony’s surprise, the kid says in a garbled rush that something strange was going on with him. And Tony asks him to explain— clearly.

He’s not used to the kid coming to him when he feels troubled. Peter was as hard headed as an Infinity Stone when it came to asking for help. It was up to he and Peter’s Aunt May to address the boy whenever something was obviously bothering him. But it was like pulling a tooth every time—a stubborn, rebellious, rotten tooth that had too much pride to be extracted.

Peter bites his fist as he thinks. Tony looks at him oddly and Peter drops his hand.

“Sorry—I just—” He’s distracted. “Do you have anything crunchy?”

Tony raises a brow. “Excuse me? Crunchy to snack on?” Peter nods. “Right, your enhanced appetite.” He reaches into the fruit bowl resting on the countertop.

With his reflexes, Peter catches the green apple. “I don’t think this is my appetite talking,” he explains then takes a violent bite. Sinking his teeth into something never felt this good.

Tony blinks at him. He’s never witnessed something so primal about biting into an apple. “Don’t keep me in suspense—or, uh, maybe slow down on the fruit, it’s dribbling all over you.”

Tony is right; Peter’s chin and hand are sticky from the juice and his cheeks are full. Peter sets the fruit aside, continuing to chew and uses the sleeve on his jacket to clean up his mess.

“Was that the weird thing you mentioned?” Tony says, having looked away from Peter, a little grossed out.

Finishing his mouthful, Peter says, “Kind of. Over the past week, I’ve had this... craving? I don’t know, but I want to sink my teeth into something— mostly crunchy or chewy things. It isn’t constant but it’s something new."

Tony snorts. “Okay…you been bitten by any vampires?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Mr. Stark…” 

“You were bitten by a spider and boom—spider powers. Plus the world we live in, kid, who’s to say vampires aren’t real.”

“Vampires aren’t real.”

“Ah, but vampire bats are.” Tony taps at his temple with a grin.

Peter frowns at him. “I mean yeah the spider bite...but things are different.”

Tony raises his chin, urging Peter.

Peter takes a deep breath. “The bite gave me my powers. But I never experienced the things I’ve been experiencing lately.”

“Like the desire to bite things?” Tony supplies.

“Yeah. The other night I couldn’t sleep, and I don’t know why but I latched onto the ceiling and just hung up there for three hours. I almost fell asleep.”

Tony tilts his head. “Wouldn’t you fall if you were asleep? Unless your ‘stickiness’ works while you're knocked out too.”

“I don’t know.”

“What else, kid?”

Peter bites his lip, looking away. “I’ve been more sensitive to stimuli.” He rubs at his sleeve. “This has been happening all week. The hair on my arms stand and sort of buzz, like I feel vibrations.”

“Let me see.” 

Peter rolls his sleeve up, holding his bare arm out to Tony. When the older man’s hand is only centimeters away, Peter flinches. Tentatively, Tony runs his fingers along the arm, feeling for anything unusual, and there isn’t.

But he sees what Peter is talking about. Goosebumps cover Peter’s arm and the hair stands as though electrocuted.

Tony retracts his hand, and Peter sighs, quickly rolling his sleeve back down.

Without preamble, Peter says, “Wearing long-sleeves helps.”

“Helps how?”

“Block the input. I feel things more, if that makes sense. Just—stronger. The buzzing can be overwhelming, especially in a place like New York.”

Now the kid’s senses are dialed to infinity, which likely means he is more prone to—if not already in a constant state of— sensory overload.

The gears in Tony’s head whir, his eyes becoming unfocused. “Keep going. Tell me everything.”

“I’ve been stretching more often. My joints and bones feel stiff, so I stretch and bend just to get some relief. And it’s healed up now, but at the beginning of the week, I got a shallow cut on my hand and it was blue instead of red.”

“Are you suggesting that your blood is blue?”

“Not exactly. I got knifed on my arm recently, I guess the cut was deeper…” He looks away sheepishly when Tony’s eyes widen. “I did bleed red then. When it was healing though, it turned pale blue.” 

Tony keeps a mental note of every symptom, already undergoing the processes of figuring out why Peter's suffering some fucked up form of spider-puberty.

“The strangest thing—”

Tony gapes at Peter. “Stranger than all of that?” 

Peter runs a hand up his side where his rib cage is, furrowing his brows. “I can’t explain this, without it sounding crazy.”

Tony scoffs. “This conversation was never normal from the start. And no offense, you’re not a normal kid either. Crazy shouldn’t even begin to describe this.”

Peter keeps a hand pressed on his side. “On the sides of my body, closer to my back, it’s as if there’s supposed to be something there. Like something’s missing.”

“What exactly?” Tony narrows his eyes without a clue.

Peter swallows. “Limbs.”

Tony’s wrong; this is the craziest bit of the conversation yet. “Limbs,” he echoes. “You think you’re missing arms and legs?”

“It’s insane, but yeah. The feeling is like phantom-arms or legs. You know like when people that were born with six fingers then those fingers get tied off but they still feel the presence of the extra finger even though it’s not there.”

“This is just getting bizarre, and creepy. I’m sure May would tell if you were born with extra arms. Unless this means you’re growing more.” Peter pales at that. “You said this started happening this past week. Did anything occur that might have caused all of this?”

Tony waits, crossing his arms. The talk of phantom limbs unnerved him and by the way Peter spoke, it unnerved him too; all of it had. While his powers were unusual, his abilities weren’t one hundred percent akin to an actual spider. 

However, based on what Peter’s been experiencing reflects the behavior, but also the physiology, biology, and potentially anatomy of a real spider.

“You mean anything out of the ordinary?”

“I mean were you bitten by another irradiated spider, or possibly—" Tony pauses, the crease in his brow deepening. Peter purses his lips in anticipation. His eyes shut for a moment. “You’ve had these powers for a while now. I wonder...if somehow you’re unlocking new abilities and behaviors. Or if you’re undergoing some sort of, spider metamorphosis.”

“Mr. Stark, I don’t think that's what's happening.”

The older man’s eyes fly open. “While I think it’s not the case either— we shouldn’t rule out the chance of dormancy. You may have always had these in you since the bite. Only now, it’s awakened.”

The color drains from Peter’s face. “Am I going to turn into a spider?”

“You should hope not or you’re spending prom night alone.”

Peter forces a smile. While not exactly a life or death situation (yet), Peter struggles to adjust to the changes. He loves being Spider-Man, but he didn’t want to become an actual human spider.

“We’ve got work to do,” Tony interrupts Peter’s thoughts. “FRIDAY contact Banner and Helen, relay them everything that Peter’s told me. Tell them to come post-haste.”

“What do I do?” Peter asks, following Tony towards the lab.

Tony whirls around to face him. He claps a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and then retracts it, offering a rueful smile when Peter winces. “Hope you don’t have too much homework tonight, kid; we’re going to have to run some tests.”

Peter nods.

“Good, so let’s get going before you start laying eggs.”

* * *

Peter checks his phone. “Aunt May wants to know when I'll be home.”

It’s getting closer to ten at night. Peter has been in one of the labs at Avengers facility for most of his time. Bruce and Tony ran a few standard tests on Peter, while Helen and her team conducted more of the nitty-gritty.

Tony hands Peter a carrot and loudly slurps his fifth cup of coffee that evening. “To be determined.”

Peter crunches on the carrot. He still couldn’t curb his desire to bite into something. Earlier, Tony had sent Happy to pick up some gummy snacks for Peter.

But when the kid inhaled nearly four boxes, Tony replaced them with something healthier. The sugar was an unwise additive for Peter who alone is already hyperactive. Even after they had stopped for dinner to eat proper food and nutrition, Peter was still in search of something to bite into.

Peter’s shoulders are tense while he continues to snack. He had changed into a t-shirt for Bruce and Helen to examine his arms, but his sense of touch was still too sharp.

Tony gives him a reassuring look. It isn’t hard to figure out that Peter is uncomfortable. And judging by how later it got, he’s itching to get into his suit and patrol. “Hang tight. Back to May for a second—”

Peter turns to Tony.

“Did you perchance tell her why you’re here?” Tony levels a stern gaze at Peter, and unsurprisingly the boy wilts. “We all had an agreement. Keep her in the loop. For my own sake especially.”

Peter shakes his head. “I can’t, Mr. Stark. Ever since she found out, I’ve been on thin ice. I don’t want to give her any more reason to worry.”

“Can you blame her?”

He doesn’t have to say anything. After his lapse of judgment, May caught Peter and it took a lot of pleading to convince her to let him be Spider-Man. On May’s part, there were some tears, which only made Peter feel guiltier.

Since May found out, she, Tony, and himself agreed that she would not be left out of anything. If Peter had a serious injury, he’d tell her. If he needed back up, whether danger, imminent peril, etc., he’d call for it.

And in Peter’s defense he did follow those conditions. The training he got at the facility helped him out on patrol, helping him to avoid serious injuries. He had yet to need back up for anything, though and he doesn’t think he’s in peril presently.

He just can’t tell her about the weird changes. He can’t expect her to remain calm and not panic, when he is anything but calm and has been close to panicking several times within the last couple of hours.

“I just want to wait until we figure all this out. If there’s no need to worry then I’ll tell her. Maybe laugh at this someday…” Peter finishes the last chunk of carrot; chomping so hard his teeth could shatter.

Tony creases his brow. “I don’t know much about spiders, but I have learned that they don’t typically bite. We can still get an opinion on vampire bats, mosquitoes even.”

Peter huffs, smiling. “Not sure which is worse to be honest.”

Bruce walked into the room, lips purses between a smile and a frown. In his hands is Peter’s sweatshirt. “You can have this back, Pete, sorry for the wait.”

Peter fumbles with the sweatshirt in a rush, his shoulders sagging once his arms are covered.

“What’s the word, Bruce? Is our boy turning into a spider?” Tony says, finishing the rest of his coffee. 

Bruce grimaces, eyes shifting between Tony and Peter. “Helen and her team are running some additional tests. All the blood samples we’ve got are still red, but we’ll keep them stored and check to see if they change color.”

Tony nods, glancing over to Peter who smiles nervously.

Bruce goes on. “We did notice some changes, and they were—bizarre.”

Peter gulps. “What else was there?”

Bruce removes his glasses, blinking tightly and Tony knew Bruce long enough to tell that he was stalling.

“Um—the swab of saliva we took was meant to diagnose any sort of infection that may be linked to your symptoms. And it turns out, there is a numbing chemical similar to—” Bruce doesn’t need to say it, but the discovery is just as irksome.

Tony shakes his head, which looks more like a shudder. “Tell me—no— tell Peter it’s not venom.”

“We’re trying to figure that out. Helen, actually wanted to examine your teeth,” Bruce tells Peter.

“Kid, did you not notice this before, or did this all change within the past couple of hours?”

Peter stammers out a response. “N—no.” His eyes go unfocused for a moment, frowning deeply, and licking his lips. “I guess I’ve been drooling more when—“

Tony is a step ahead. He leaves the room momentarily while Bruce watches him go, confused. When Tony returns, he hands Peter a thick stock of celery. “Next time, it’s going to be raw onion. Maybe that will put an end to your teething.”

“’M sorry.” Peter bites, lowering his head.

Tony sighs. “I’m not blaming you, Pete.”

Peter continues to eat, almost thoughtfully. There is a chance that he could be venomous. When going to Tony for help, Peter was looking for a simple explanation. He didn’t think they’d be uncovering more issues.

“Peter?” Bruce says after a moment. “You okay?”

“Yeah—yeah, fine.” Peter straightens, ignoring the pooling in his stomach. “What—what else—is there anything else?”

Bruce purses his lips. He met Tony’s pointed eyes, which warned, _don’t say anything that would scare him_.

“About your arms…” Bruce says. “The hair growing there is much finer and sensitive like you described. For now, I suggest stick to wearing long-sleeves. Further examination has shown us—” Bruce pauses, scratching at his neck. “From the x-rays, it looks like you’ve have...organs in your arms. They’re embryonic, but you produce your own webs right?”

Peter’s jaw falls to his lap.

“You’re going to catch flies that way,” Tony quips, but cringes at his choice of words. “Er…didn’t mean that.”

Peter blinks at Bruce. “I make them at school, in the chemistry lab. And sometimes here, I mix chemicals and solutions together.”

“Hold the phone,” Tony interjects before the kid’s brain short circuits. “There are spinnerets in his arms?” Tony resists the urge to wrinkle his nose.

Bruce put his hands up. “I’m no spider expert, none of us are. But like I said, the organs are not fully developed. Any production of organic webbing would be unlikely at this stage.”

“At this stage. So there’s a chance that they could progress. Okay, enough about what else you found, how do we explain all this? None of this was there when Peter first got bit.”

“Yes, in Peter’s blood we detected a compound that could be responsible. It’s new and wasn’t there in his past blood work. We’re trying to see if it’s been fused with his DNA and if it’s reversible.”

Tony furrows his brows and turns to Peter. “There was something foreign in his bloodstream, eh? Kid, earlier I asked if anything might have happened to you that could be the cause for your spider-puberty.”

“Oh,” Peter intones.

“Oh. Be straight with me. What is it? Drugs?”

Peter gapes at him. “No, no, no. Mr. Stark— I don’t do that.”

“Then what happened prior to all of this?”

“Um, I did bump into someone.”

Tony huffs. “Again with the suspense, who?”

Peter blushes. “Dr. Octopus. It was Saturday night and I heard a news report of a skirmish going on in Manhattan, so I went to investigate.”

Tony pulls out his phone and searches “Dr. Octopus”, not bothering to quip about how ridiculous he or she sounds. He’s never heard of them and sure enough they were pretty new. His search leads him to a few Bigfoot-like sighting reports, but no picture available, let alone any substantial info.

Bruce knit his brows together. “Who exactly is this person?” 

Peter swivels on the exam table. “I don’t know. He just started popping up. The _Bugle_ calls him Doc Ock, and he’s…gnarly.” Peter pauses, bristling. “He’s got these mechanical arms and they’re strong.”

Tony’s gaze darkens. “What did he do to you?”

“When I got there, he looked kind of happy to see me.” Peter scratches at his scalp. “I don’t know. It may have been a set up. Anyways, we fought, he got me pinned to a wall, and something stabbed me in the thigh. I used my webs to hurl a trash can at him and got away. By Sunday night, I went through four packs of gummy worms.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Kid, what the hell? Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier? Or better yet, why didn’t you tell me the night it happened?”

There’s a pitch in Peter’s voice when he speaks. “I got home fine. Nothing out of the ordinary at the time.”

Tony’s nostrils flare. “ _Nothing_?”

Peter wilts, averting his eyes. “Okay, I felt weird right after. I had a fever and threw up, sort of like when I first got bit.”

“And then?” Bruce says.

“I passed out.” Peter shrugs. “I woke up before dawn and made it home, feeling normal.”

Tony bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to be upset with Peter for leaving out the details. To Peter’s credit he did eventually come to Tony instead of the older man finding out too late. But this latest discovery is what worried Tony more. He was going to have to spend the rest of the night digging up enough info on this Doc Ock. There was no telling what he was capable of.

“What does Dr. Octopus want with Spider-Man?” Bruce says after a moment.

Peter looks wistful. “No clue. It’s the only time I’ve dealt with him, but…there are people who don't like Spider-Man.”

Bruce and Tony nod. The backlash against heroes and vigilantes is nothing new, and has only grown in the past decade. Whoever Doc Ock is however, has a specific interest in Spider-Man to inject him with some sort of spider-serum.

And then it clicks in Tony’s head. “He may be affiliated with OsCorp.” Bruce raises his brows, but Tony ignores him. “Kid, the spider that bit you was at OsCorp. Unofficial spider project they were working on, until for mysterious reasons was discontinued.”

Bruce makes a face. “How do you know that, Tony?”

“I’ve been spying on Osborn’s business for years,” comes Tony’s blunt response.

“Y—yeah,” Peter stammers. 

Tony snaps his fingers. “FRIDAY, begin a search through the OsCorp database for scientists that have worked there. Narrow it down to the ones that have been there within the past year.”

Peter scratches at his ribs. “Um, Dr. Banner, was there anything else you found in my x-ray?”

Tony and Bruce look at him for a moment, then they understand.

“The x-rays don’t show anything else, yet.” Bruce winces. It’s hard to be honest sometimes.

“No worries, kid. We’ll get this figured out.” Tony nods at Peter. “In the meantime, let’s get you home.”

* * *

Peter stops rubbing his hands on his jeans to grip the fabric tightly. He grits his teeth, trying to quell his habit. But his new mouth fixation (or teething as Tony liked to call it) is not the only source to his growing anxiety when he and Tony park outside of his apartment complex.

“We can tell her together,” Tony says, turning towards Peter fully.

The very sight of the familiar building makes Peter’s stomach churn. “Please, can’t I wait until tomorrow?”

Tony shuts off the engine. “Your aunt has a right to know, and I am indebted to her after hiding your secret.”

Peter groans, eyes falling onto his lap. “I’ll tell her but not now. She’s still getting used to me being Spider-Man.”

“She hasn’t stopped you,” Tony points out, hoping Peter will perk up.

Shrugging his shoulders, Peter says, “Even though she’s let me, I know she doesn’t like it.”

“It’ll take time for her to accept it fully. But talking to her instead of lying will work better in your favor.”

Peter sighs and Tony knows he’s right. Tony didn’t know May well enough like Peter did to speak for her. But he’s confident that May loves him enough to try and understand this world Peter’s been thrust into.

When the news broke that May had found out, while Tony dreaded the backlash, he understood that it came from a place of love. May loved Peter and her worrying about him was because he mattered that much to her. And in Peter’s defense, Tony knew why the kid wanted to keep a secret from her. He didn’t want her to be at risk of danger and because he suffered from guilt.

Peter finally looks up at Tony with hunched shoulders. “I just don’t want her to freak out. How do I explain to her that I may be venomous or if webs suddenly shoot out from my fingertips?”

“Tell her it’s all hypothetical, and we’re working on fixing it.”

“But if it’s not reversible, then what? I have developing spinnerets in my arms, I constantly want to bite things, and one day I might wake up with four extra arms. Aunt May’s going to lose her mind when she sees me turn into some gross, cross human-spider. She might be afraid—”

The urge to interrupt him before he had finished is overwhelming. “Kid, relax.”

Peter’s mouth hangs open for a moment as the words stop spilling out of him.

“What’s the real reason you’re worried here?”

“I like being Spider-Man. I love it, the whole package. Another reason why I didn’t want her to know in the first place was because…what if she was scared of me?”

“You mean a lot to your aunt, Peter. She cares about you, unconditionally.”

“I’m a freak.”

Tony pauses. He’s worried for Peter, and he can only imagine how much more terrifying it must be for him. These new qualities aren’t exactly exciting as when Peter first got bit. He hasn’t known Peter or May long enough to know that she would never abandon him when he needed her. Even if he did turn into a human-spider, something tells Tony that May would still love her nephew. But at the state that Peter’s mind is in, no amount of convincing will ease his worries. 

Tony runs a hand through his hair, the weight of guilt sinking in his stomach. “Listen. If you prefer to wait, then that’s your choice.”

Peter turns his hopeful eyes to Tony. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Tony’s voice is trained. “If it were up to me, I’d tell her. But this is about you, and if you’re not comfortable telling her, then wait. However, if things get worse or you notice anything else unusual, tell me ASAP. And if that happens, kid, no promises, if you don’t spill, I’ll tell May for you.”

Peter winces, sinking into the passenger seat. He doesn’t even want to think what else could change. Shoving those thoughts to the back of his head, Peter nods. 

“Alright, get inside. We’ll keep each other in the loop.”

* * *

Flash glances at Peter and snorts. “Parker, are you tweaking right now?” 

Much to Peter’s dismay he twitches at the response, which only earns him another jab from Flash.

“Oh man, you are. I can’t believe it. You’re like the cookie-cutter type nerd. Unless—nah, you’re not on drugs. Cutting back on gummy worms?”

Peter shakes his head, trying to laugh it off. “Ha, good one.”

“Then what?” Flash cocks a brow at him.

“Flash, you better have been revising, in the event that Peter is benched.”

Michelle is leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, and deadpanning at Flash. 

“Of course,” Flash scoffs and gets up to leave, unable to make eye contact with Michelle as he passes her by. 

Michelle turns her sights on Peter who’s fidgeting in his seat with his fingers curled. “I hope I don’t have to bench you. The last thing we need is a losing chance during the physics round.”

“I’m okay,” Peter intones, willing himself to be still. 

Michelle is skeptical. “Are you? Flash might have been busting your balls, but he’s onto something. As am I.”

“I’m okay,” Peter repeats, tucking his lower lip between his teeth. Michelle arches a brow, waiting, and Peter shakes his head again. “Really. Besides you have Flash—”

Michelle raises a hand. “Please don’t even try that. He’s your alternate, not your equal.”

Peter sighs and his fist ghosts his lips. Peter catches himself, remembering that Michelle is still looking at him, and he drops it. “Sorry, Michelle, I—”

“Take the afternoon off.”

“What—no, I’m good.”

Michelle’s expression softens. “I’ll tell Harrington you had your internship today.” 

Peter opens his mouth to argue, but Michelle robs him of an excuse. 

“Peter, it’s okay. I trust you. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, you take care of it. We need you to be in a good headspace at the next practice, though.”

It’s a small relief, but one that Peter appreciates. “Thanks.”

Michelle nods. “Oh.” She unzips a pocket on her messenger bag, pulling out a pack of gum. 

Peter eyes it curiously. “Uh, I’m good.”

Michelle doesn't blink, still holding the pack of gum out to Peter. “I don’t know, Peter, but something tells me you might need this today.”

She leaves when he takes it, and desperate for something to bite into, Peter pops three sticks into his mouth. The constant chewing doesn’t quite sate his need, but it’s better than nothing. 

Alone in the classroom, Peter does some research on his laptop. He’s not sure if he’ll find anything but it’s a worth a try, digging up information on Dr. Octopus. 

But there’s hardly anything. Much like Tony, all Peter finds are fuzzy pictures, posts on social media, and headlines that offer nothing valid. He’s nowhere closer to knowing who he is than what’s happening to him. 

“Dude.”

Peter blinks away from the screen. “Hey, Ned.”

His friend enters, settling in the desk in front of him. “What’re you doing in here? You didn’t bring lunch?”

Peter sighs. He had a lunched packed—carrot sticks and three large apples with a side of turkey sandwich. And it was gone after his second period. “Was hungry earlier, so…”

“I have some stuff if you’re still hungry.” Ned unrolls his brown bag. 

Peter snatches the Gushers the moment he sees it. 

“Whoa,” Ned laughs. “You were like a cat just now, swiping at its dinner.”

Peter huffs. I’d rather be that than a spider.

“What’re you looking at anyways?” Ned cranes his head. “Doc Ock? Have you run into him? Is he even real?”

Peter blanches, a phantom bruise in his thigh thrumming. “He’s real, and someone I _don't_ want to see again.”

Ned tilts his head. “Then what’s up with the detective work?”

Peter hedges. What would Ned think? He’s not sure if it’s growing worse, or if he’s overthinking everything. But since the day before at the lab, Peter’s symptoms have multiplied.

Sitting in a classroom for extended periods of time made his joints feel stiff and painful, and he needed to take a moment between classes to stretch for relief. He skipped the pep rally in the morning, hiding in the bathroom to avoid the over-stimulation. While there, he scrutinized his hands and fingers for any changes.

Ned looks at him, waiting, and Peter considers until he remembers May and how she doesn’t know. He shakes his head. “Just want to know what he’s up to. A guy with mechanical arms has something planned, and it’s something that could hurt people.”

“Yeah, I wonder who this dude is.” Ned focuses on the article pulled on Peter’s laptop. 

Peter’s not a natural liar, but Ned trusts him implicitly. Peter swallows bile (or venom, he can’t tell) back down his throat as his chest tightens with guilt.

The bell rings, rattling in Peter’s skull, and he barely restrains a hiss. 

“I have to get to shop,” he says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

“Peter, wait.”

Peter freezes at the threshold, spinning a heel. 

Ned meets him, holding out his closed laptop.

Shaking head, Peter forces a smile. “Thanks, I forgot.” He reaches for it as he turns towards the hall and the laptop clatters on the floor.

"Oh, shoot, Peter, sorry,” Ned says, crouching. “My fault, man, I thought you had it, so I let go…” A crease forms in his forehead, lowering his voice to a hushed tone. “Um, I think your web shooters may have leaked.”

Peter’s eyes go wide, holding his hand out before him as though it were a foreign object. His fingertips drip of sticky web—web that did not come out of his shooters. The trails connect to his fallen laptop and he panics. 

Ned’s eyes follow the trail, gaping at Peter’s hand. 

Peter doesn’t give him a chance to say anything. He hugs the laptop and dashes into the halls, knocking into students, leaving their stunned and annoyed faces in his wake. 

He doesn’t worry about cutting class; he has no room in his brain for that— not right now and maybe not ever again. He runs out the school and keeps running until he finds an empty alley. 

The panic attack subsides and Peter catches his breath, but the stickiness from his fingertips leaves him shaken. He wipes the residue on his jeans in quick motions. 

His mind races, and Peter realizes that there’s no time left to waste. He pulls out his phone, typing a message. 

_Mr. Stark, emergency, I’m coming by right now._


End file.
